Any Luck at All: Asheville Brewing #1

by Denise Grover Swank

  Pity filled Adalia’s eyes, and she reached over and covered Georgie’s hand with her own. “I know that, but apparently River’s asshole friend didn’t.”

  “Finn,” Georgie said.

  “Excuse me?” Adalia asked with bugged-out eyes. “Like a fish? No wonder he’s an asshole with a huge chip on his shoulder. Probably lived his entire life having to deal with stupid jokes about his name and it’s made him bitter and resentful of love.” She took a sip of her wine in a dramatic flourish to punctuate her assessment of River’s friend.

  Georgie stared at her, mouth partially open, then shook it off and took a sip of her own wine. “I found out about the stipulations when Jack and I went to sign the papers, but Jack was worried that if River knew, he’d purposely make us lose the competition so he could inherit it all anyway. I barely knew River, but I was sure he would never do that, because it turns out that sometimes you meet a person and you just know them.”

  Tears filled her eyes again.

  “Or in my case, you don’t clue in until it’s much too late.” Adalia took another sip of her wine. “But you’ve always had a pretty good bullshit meter when it comes to everyone who isn’t Dad and Lee, when he’s acting like Dad’s mini-me.”

  Georgie gave her a scowl.

  Adalia held up her hands in mock surrender, still holding the wine glass in her right hand, and a splash of wine sloshed over the rim and onto the floor. At another moment, Georgie would have hastened to wipe it up. Now, she didn’t much care. “It’s true. Sure, you’ve dated assholes in the past, but I always knew why.”

  While Georgie could admit that she’d dated less than promising guys, she’d never purposely selected a dud. “What are you talking about?”

  “Come on, Georgie. It’s plain as day, and it’s twofold.” She twisted her mouth to the side and stared at the top of the cabinets from the corner of her eye. “Or maybe it’s all one and the same.” She shook herself. “In any case, you usually date men like Dad.”

  “What?” Georgie screeched in horror.

  “It’s true,” Adalia said with a shrug. “Lots of women do it, but usually because they adore their father and it’s subconsciously imprinted on their brains that he’s the ideal man.”

  A shudder rippled through Georgie’s body. “That’s disgusting. Our father is not my ideal man.”

  Adalia lifted her glass. “Cheers to that. But the truth of the matter is that, for better or for worse, you have dated men like Dad—devoted to their careers. Aloof. Detached. Emotionally unavailable. Indifferent.”

  “You do realize those are all adjectives that describe the same thing?”

  Shrugging, Adalia said, “I had to make sure I drove the point home.” She leaned closer, over the table. “You dated men who treated you the way Dad has treated you your entire life, because one, that’s been your experience of how a man treats women, and two, it was so much safer. If they were indifferent and aloof, you could be too. No attachment. No heartbreak.”

  Georgie stared at her in shock. Was Adalia right? It fit with what she’d realized about her fear of becoming like her mother.

  Her sister took another sip of wine, then said, “I wish I had my phone on me so I could take a photo of your face right now. Georgie, the woman with all the answers, in shock and clueless.”

  Georgie rested her arm on the table, suddenly weary. “I don’t have all the answers, Addy. Right now I don’t feel like I have any of them.”

  “No one does. But you sure do a good job of convincing everyone you do. You and Lee are a lot alike in that way.” A look crossed her face like she’d said too much, but then she tilted her head to the side. “Now why don’t you fill me in on what a Brewfest is and why we need to win it.”

  Georgie told her the rest—how she’d signed without reading the fine print, thinking the signatures were simply a formality, and they now stood to lose the brewery if they didn’t place fifth or higher in the Brewfest Competition next spring.

  “That’s why we need River,” Georgie said, sounding resigned as she finished her second glass of wine. “We can’t win it without him, yet if we lose, he gets it.”

  Adalia pursed her lips. “And you’re sure he wouldn’t purposely throw the contest to get the brewery?”

  “I am. That’s not why I didn’t tell him… It’s just, I couldn’t imagine how hurt he’d be once he found out.”

  “From the looks of it, pretty hurt,” Adalia said.

  Tears welled in Georgie’s eyes again. “To make matters worse, River just quit and Jack and Lee insisted on that stupid noncompete, which means River can’t get another job within a two-hundred-mile radius. If they don’t back down, he’ll be forced to leave everything he loves.” A sob broke loose.

  She was being weak again. She’d have to take a stand and make her brothers rip that agreement up so River could work wherever he wanted. Except she knew in her heart that the only place he wanted to work was Buchanan. Georgie had no idea how she could restart the brewery without him, let alone win Brewfest. Maybe they should just concede and give River everything now, yet she didn’t want to do that either. She felt like she belonged at Buchanan Brewery too. The two of them together. But he’d never trust her now.

  Maybe she really had lost everything.

  Adalia was making a face like she was concentrating too hard and giving herself a headache. “Why in the world would you let Jack tell you what to do?” she finally asked, starting to get irritated. “You never let any man tell you what to do.”

  “Because I felt bad for him, Addy. We ignored him all these years, and this was finally something from the Buchanan family he could have for himself…something he could be included in.”

  “For the record, I could spout an earful about how you and Lee kept this from me,” Adalia grumbled. “But for now, I’ll focus on his desire to be a Buchanan, because come on…” She shook her head. “Why on earth he would want to be one of us is beyond me.”

  “That’s a very good point, but he did, and he wanted it badly. So I went against my better judgment and caved,” she finished with a sigh.

  “And what lesson did we learn here?” Adalia asked in a high-pitched voice.

  “Not to trust men?” Georgie asked with a hint of a grin.

  Adalia’s upper lip curled and she gave a brisk nod. “That too, but our other lesson is not to compromise our principles. For anyone.”

  Her voice broke, and Georgie knew she was talking about her own hard-learned lesson too.

  Reaching across the table, Georgie grabbed Adalia’s hand and squeezed. “I have a lot of regrets, Addy, but one of my biggest was losing you along the way.”

  Tears filled Adalia’s eyes. “You didn’t lose me, Georgie. I was always there.”

  “Then I underappreciated you.” She squeezed her hand tighter. “I know what’s important now, Addy. River taught me that.”

  Sadness filled Adalia’s eyes. “Maybe you haven’t lost him, Georgie. Maybe he just needs some time.”

  Georgie shook her head. “No. Too many people have betrayed him, and I was one person too many.”

  And that was what hurt her most of all.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  River had tried to run away once, after he’d gone to live with Aunt Dottie—been left to live with her. He’d bought a bus ticket to Savannah with the allowance money she’d given him for helping with her energetic necklaces. Savannah was the last city from which Esmerelda had sent him a postcard. But he hadn’t known what to do when he’d arrived. He was still just a kid, even at thirteen, and he felt every bit of his youth as he wandered around the city. After a few hours of going around to different souvenir shops and asking about her, learning nothing, he’d called his aunt. (The phone number he had for Esmerelda had been disconnected months before.) She’d left immediately to get him, and Beau had skipped the rest of his workday to come with her.

  Neither of them had yelled or carried on—they hadn’t even tried to make him feel guilty by t
elling him how much they’d worried. Instead, they’d taken him out to dinner, like they’d meant to come to Savannah in the middle of the week, but when Aunt Dottie went to the restroom during dinner, Beau had told him the truth.

  Those postcards he’d been getting from Esmerelda every few weeks had all been written by his aunt’s hand. She’d wanted to make him feel better—to make him believe that his mother cared enough to reach out. But Esmerelda hadn’t. She didn’t. He knew she was alive. Every so often, he’d find something online about her jewelry, something that proved she was still out there, somewhere, but it was as if River had ceased to exist for her.

  That had made him feel screwed up inside for weeks afterward. Months. Years, even. But that was nothing compared to what he felt now.

  After leaving Georgie’s house, he drove back to the loft, but he couldn’t bring himself to go in, so he just walked for hours, walked until his legs got tired. He saw a few people he knew—something that always happened if he walked downtown—but he couldn’t summon the energy to do more than nod. When he finally got home, Hops had broken out of the crate, and there was a mess on the floor. Torn-up paper and pee. Worse, his water was empty and so was his food bowl. The puppy whimpered at his feet, pawing at them.

  What had he been thinking, taking in a dog? He couldn’t take care of a puppy. He’d have to leave Asheville anyway, wouldn’t he? After all of this, he’d have to leave, and not just because the noncompete he’d signed ensured he couldn’t work in the field. He couldn’t live here, near Georgie, surrounded by memories of how life had been and his ruined dreams about how it might be.

  He’d have to channel his mother and uproot himself. It had always been so easy for her to leave a place behind, a person behind, or at least she’d made it seem that way.

  He brought Hops out, fed and watered him, and then proceeded to down the majority of a bottle of whiskey. Sometimes beer just wasn’t enough.

  He woke up past eleven the next morning to Hops pawing at him, whining, and another mess. His head feeling like it had been hit with an anvil, he brought the little dog out, feeling a swell of worthlessness—how long had Hops been trying to wake him, anyway?

  It felt wrong to be home. He felt like he should be at the office, preparing for the events. The messed-up thing was that he felt guilty about leaving it all to Georgie. About abandoning her when she needed him.

  She betrayed you, he reminded himself. She lied to you. They all did.

  So why wouldn’t the guilt go away? Why couldn’t he stop wondering what Georgie was doing? How she was feeling?

  Why couldn’t he stop wanting to ease her pain?

  Because you’re a fool.

  Hops whimpered again, and River gave himself a mental shake. If nothing else, he could get Hops sorted. He could help him find the kind of home he deserved.

  He’d shut his phone down last night, but he turned it on now, ignoring the missed texts on the home screen, though he did notice the names. Aunt Dottie. Finn. No Georgie.

  Which only made him wonder again what she was thinking.

  He sent off a quick text to Maisie: I need to bring Hops back today. I can’t take care of him anymore. This isn’t working.

  Her response was immediate: Meet me at the clubhouse at 3. No Hops. No excuses.

  Huh. Did that mean she knew what had happened? Had Georgie told people?

  No, it had to be Finn. Finn couldn’t shut his mouth if world peace depended on it.

  Part of him wanted to tell her no, but he needed to see a friendly face, and one that had no connection to the Buchanans and their manipulations and the love he begrudgingly bore for them.

  And she’d mentioned the clubhouse, which he hadn’t thought about in years. Her dad had built it for Maisie and her sisters, but no one had really used it other than River and Maisie. It wasn’t much—little more than room for a table and a couple of chairs. Some books and games. But it had felt like a safe haven. Like a place where he didn’t need to worry about being the new kid, or the stupid kid, or the kid who’d gotten left behind. Somewhere he could just be River. As far as he knew, she only used it for the foster dogs now.

  OK was all he said in response.

  It felt a little weird when he got there, walking past Maisie’s house and out to the clubhouse. Like maybe he was trespassing, or like fifteen years had been erased, and he was that lost teenage boy again. But he’d seen her car in the drive, so surely she was there.

  He knocked on their door, and she called out, “Use the code, doofus,” and he smiled—actually smiled—as he used their knock.

  She opened the door, and he was surprised to see she looked like she hadn’t gotten much sleep either. Was the fundraiser going that badly?

  “Is everything okay?” he asked. “You look tired.”

  “You’re saying that to me?” she said with a smirk. “You should look in the mirror, bud.” She waved behind her. “Come in. Take a seat.”

  It looked just like he remembered it. Hell, from what he could tell, she even had the same furniture in there, although everything smelled powerfully of dog.

  “I’m not so sure I want to,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Oh, don’t be a baby. I’ll leave the door open.”

  She did, and he sat on the old upholstered window seat, and she sat across from him on a rickety old chair. It was only after they’d taken their seats that he realized their positions mimicked those of a therapist and patient. Appropriate enough.

  “You’re not bringing Hops back,” she said. “I refuse.”

  He looked away, ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t take care of him anymore, Maisie. I had to quit the brewery. I found out…I found out Beau was going to leave it to me. He changed his mind, but he left a crazy clause in his will. If the brewery doesn’t place in the top five at Brewfest, it goes to me anyway. Georgie knew. We…we decided to give it a try. Being together, working together.” His voice took on a ragged edge he didn’t much like. “But she’s known for weeks, and she didn’t tell me.”

  “I know,” she said, not that he was surprised. “You’ll be annoyed to hear that Finn called an emergency breakfast session with me and Dottie this morning.”

  He let out an exhale that was somewhere between a sound of annoyance and a laugh. “Sounds more like something Aunt Dottie would do.”

  “What can I say? I guess she’s rubbed off on all of us.” She held his gaze, something intense in her eyes. “River, Dottie’s pretty upset. Finn too. Neither of them think Georgie was playing you. In fact…” She cleared her throat. “Dottie says she’s positive Georgie’s in love with you.”

  Something warm unfurled in him, but he shut it down quickly. “I didn’t think she was playing me…she’s not like that. It’s just…she didn’t trust me. I told her that I didn’t want us to start anything unless she was sure, and she still didn’t tell me.”

  “Which is shitty,” Maisie said softly. “No one’s saying otherwise. But don’t you think she was maybe worried you’d react just like you’re reacting?” She paused, tilting her head a little, and then said words that drove a knife into him. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s afraid of being left?”

  A feeling akin to horror passed over him. Was that how Georgie felt? Like he’d left her? Like he’d decided she wasn’t good enough? He thought again of those postcards. He’d looked at them after the drive back from Savannah, comparing them to one of his aunt’s grocery lists, and sure enough, they’d been in her writing.

  “Why are you so sure that’s why she didn’t tell me?” he said through numb lips. “They needed me to help make the brewery competitive. Jack thought I would tank them if I knew about the will.”

  “Yeah, Jack thought that,” she said. “But who the hell is Jack? You don’t know him, and from what Dottie said, Georgie doesn’t really know him either. Why should his opinion matter that much to you?” She looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “Do you honestly think Georgie distrus
ted you?”

  And that was the real question, wasn’t it?

  “No,” he finally said. “No, I don’t. But this hurts like hell, and I hate that Beau put us into this mess. I…it makes me feel like I didn’t know him at all.”

  She rose from her chair then, and came to sit beside him. “You knew him, River,” she said softly. “But he wasn’t a perfect man. He also wasn’t a psychic man. I don’t think he had the first idea you’d end up leaving Big Catch. If he’d thought you would end up taking a job at Buchanan, he never would have arranged things that way.”

  She was right. Everything she’d said was right. And it penetrated the wall of hurt that had built up inside of him. Something long pent up let loose, and he felt tears course down his cheeks for the first time since Beau had died.

  “I messed everything up, Maisie. I’m not sure how to make it right. I wonder if I even can.”

  She took him in her arms and held him, just held him, for a moment, letting him cry. Then she pulled back and wiped his tears.

  “You can, and you will. Do you love Georgie?”

  The answer was so easy, it made him feel even more foolish for treating her the way he had. For walking away like she meant nothing to him.

  “I do.”

  She nodded, as if that was what she’d expected, but she looked almost sad about it.

  “Then you’re going to get your girl back. And your job, obviously.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Oh?”

  He told her about the contract he’d signed—the noncompete and the new fraternization clause—and she scowled as if she’d eaten a lemon.

  “Her brothers sound like controlling douchebags,” she said, “especially the one who knew about the will. You should have taken Georgie’s advice and had Finn look at it. He never would have let you sign that.”

  He sighed. “I know.”

  “And you also know what you have to do, right?” She took a dramatic pause. “Give that controlling douchebag a call.”

  “Ugh,” he said, feeling his head ache again through the pain reliever he’d taken. “I hate that you’re right about that too.”